A successful plan
by CrowKiller
Summary: Somehow, due to a letter sent by a well-meaning person (at least, she supposed so), Sakura ends up being declared extremely interesting. What Uchiha Itachi, heir of the famous Uchiha clan and ANBU captain wants, he gets. At any price.


I do not, do not, do NOT own Naruto. It belongs for better or worse to Masashi Kishimoto.

This story is inspired by a comic written by Neimana on Devianart called "Successful plan". I have her permission tu use it to write fanfiction. Please, do do and check it :D

**A Successful plan**

It was a small affair, a tiny nondescript white square between his much larger hands. There was nothing on it beside the addressee: his family in general, and a little smiley on the back giving a saucy wink. It felt like trouble: light, unassuming and soft. He took the envelope to the kitchen, shutting the front door behind him and paddling quietly through the house, feet shuffling across the dark wooden floors. He straightened his hair tie and poured himself a cup of tea. The fragrant smell of jasmine rose in lazy curls from the black porcelain. He sat on his calves at the low table, seiza style. The envelope sat with him her weight light on the dark wood. She looked at him, the envelope, making faces like a seductive lover. He didn't know if he should open it though. It may be something private. Yet the saucy smiley made him think that it could never be addressed to his esteemed father or his mother. That could only mean that the letter was either for his brother or, for him. It seemed unlikely for his paper lover to be from the Hokage and his only friends would never do that. He thought about it again: Hana, Kakashi and Shisui were capable of the worst. But then again, so were Sasuke's teammates and acquaintances. Indeed, Kiba, Naruto, and all the others were a force of massive destruction. If the Panty Incident was any indication.

It could also come from the harpies: these horrible women half human-half beast that were after him and his brother. Itachi sipped at his tea, hoping to drown the shudder of disgust he felt with the warmth of the brewage. This could mean, though, that at any rate, he could open the letter. He absently ran his finger around the rim of his cup. He checked the package for genjutsu and explosive contents and was half surprised to find nothing. It sounded almost more suspicious now. There was warm, skin-like material against his fingers, soft like a beautiful woman yet curvy and with a fullness to it. He opened it swiftly without tearing it and the glue gave a wet moan as the two sides were set free from their embrace. Shinny colourful rectangles fell like silk on the table, spilling across. There was no note and there appeared to be photographs of some sort. There were hands, small and delicate, the hands of a doll holding a black teapot, with a tiny scar between the thumb and index of the left hand, in shape of a crescent. He felt his chests swell as if filled with a foreign presence that would bloom and grow strangely and his eyelids covered half of his eyes. He knew what it was: desire, dark and lurking.

Then there were all the other pictures, snapshots of life, moments in time captured and forever frozen on paper. There was a chest, warm and inviting and desirable with the peak of pink underwear her backside firm and round and hips he wanted to dig his fingers into. And hold. And then there was her, his mysterious beauty, the one he had laying there at his mercy, captive of pieces of paper, the one for him to admire.

And what a show it was. Desire clawed at him like a tightly leashed beat wanting to break free. "Sakura." He said the name aloud, letting it roll off his tongue and drip into his consciousness. He felt like he saw her for the first time. So, that was what was hidden under the large red top and the pink skirt. Sasuke had once mentioned after a particularly long night full of drinks that she bound rather aggressive and he hadn't know what to make of the information. He had assumed that it referred to her way of bandaging injuries. He was no idiot, he had grown in the Uchiha clan, which was like fire: hot and temperamental and burning. He was the Heir and there had always been women eager to please and seduce.

He had always been intent on mastering any subject he chose to learn, and Uchiha Itachi was a man of honour.

He saw her for the first time then, all bright and warm. And the skin, the nape of her neck, the little locks of hair that had escaped her bun and the flat expanse of her stomach, and the small slopes of her shoulder blades on her back, and her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. She was revealed to him and he wanted to embrace it all. He had seen before, the hair and the eyes bright and alive, and her wit and her violence that had been so disturbingly appealing. A smirk slowly stretched his lips. He took another sip of tea, eyes darkened and back straight, looking like a predator. He set back the teacup and rose, unfolding like a fan. Long strides ate the ground as he marched to his brother's room. He entered without asking. Sasuke was in bed still at this early hour of the morning an arm hiding his face. He growled and the armed fell lifelessly to his side.

"What the fuck? "

Bleary eyed stared at the eldest, narrowed and observing. Itachi knew that part of his desire was still reflected on his face and Sasuke knew him well. There was no point in hiding.

"What's with the face?"

"I want you to send a message to Sakura. "

Sasuke sat up suddenly, his sheets pooling around his lap, now eyes focused and wide, mouth agape hair the result of a nuclear explosion. He blinked twice and then rubbed his eyes. After that he whipped out a kunai and with a malevolent glare opened his mouth.

"Why?

The voice was cold, defensive and deliberately slow. Itachi raised a perfect brow and then smirked some more. Sasuke had started to crawl out of bed, his eyes never leaving his brother's wary of every movement, searching for a morsel of explanation. Itachi continued to watch, he needed not to explain himself, especially to someone as foolish as his little brother. He supposed he could trick him into sending the message without having to show him the pictures. They were his, he had decided: his to look at and his to own. Sasuke was suspicious and wondering about his motives, Itachi had already seen his brother, protectiveness enveloping him and rolling off him in waves. He, Naruto and Kakashi had some sort of secret oath entailing the keeping of Sakura the way she was, which in their terms meant as single as possible. He had seen them getting into fights with The Inuzuka boy, and Neji Hyuga, and Genma, and others under false pretences. He pretended to look at his nails with clinical interest and said:

"Then again, I could tell Sakura about that interesting pact between Kakashi-sempai, Naruto and you. I think she'd be rather interested by the information. "

Sasuke was turning an alarming shade of white. Itachi smirked. He could tell his otouto was imagining the ways in which the pink haired demon could ask for retribution. Plus, Naruto and Kakashi would be onto him for having ratted them out and Sasuke didn't want his life to end just yet. Especially considering Sakura always complained about her lovers leaving her mysteriously or never wanting to get involved. Sasuke's hands shook and he quivered, then his whole body went rigid and he grabbed his phone. Itachi resisted the urge to smile. His brother had seen reason. Sasuke grumbled:

"What do you want to tell her?"

"Convey my thanks for the pictures and that I wish to meet her."

Heavy silence met his request and in an instant Sasuke was before him, staring right into his eyes with that look that clearly said 'which pictures?'. He didn't seem to have sent the message.

"Then, I could tell mother too..." Itachi drawled, cautious.

His brother already ashen face had taken a ghostly aspect and Itachi waited.

" I don't give a fuck. Show me."

Itachi raised an eyebrow. Ah. So Sasuke was willing to risk his peace at home for his teammate. Itachi was surprised: he hadn't expected this. He could see by the way Sasuke's jaw ticked and the fact that his arms were folded across his chest, feet apart, that he wouldn't back down. Then again, though it displeased him greatly, he could imagine that Sasuke's reaction upon seeing the pictures would be most entertaining. He took them out of his pocket, stepped forward and Sasuke's hand rose to take them. His brother's arms were taut with the self-restraint it took not to snatch the envelope. Sasuke fumbled with it and when he got a decent look he blew through his teeth and his lips gave a wet sound that sounded suspiciously like despair, rage and surprise, disbelief and disgust altogether, which, if Itachi was to be truthful, was both amusing and impressive. He suppressed a chuckle.

"Who gave these to you?"

Sasuke was detailing the envelope in order to determine who the sender was, turning it over and over. His right brow kept ticking.

" I do not know, it laid before our front door."

Sasuke inclined his head and glared, as if disbelieving his brother. Yet he knew for a fact that Sakura would never have sent him pictures like these. Hell, Sakura wouldn't have sent pictures to his socially-retarded, creepy older sibling, _period. _ Sasuke couldn't fathom why she would send them to his brother. Sakura had barely talked to the eldest Uchiha. That reeked of trouble and girlish plotting which could only mean one thing... Itachi merely shook his head and sighed.

"Fine, but I'll find who the mysterious sender is."

Itachi was sure that, one way or another, his brother would find who had done it, and yet he didn't feel inclined to tell Sasuke it probably was Sakura's scheming friend: Ino Yamanaka, self proclaimed queen of mischief and gossip. The musical beep from the mobile phone told Itachi that Sasuke had done his part and sent the message. He produced a genuine smile that curled his lips all the way to the Uchiha equivalent of full-blown laughter, uncovering a bit of teeth. Sasuke seemed to shudder and something that suspiciously sounded like 'urgh' left his lips. Itachi, knowing when to retreat and regroup, and witnessing the green quality of Sasuke's skin, left. Had he been prone to prancing, he might have done it. However, he was Uchiha Itachi: he had a reputation to uphold, after all.

On the opposite side of the village a musical beep, and then a shriek could be heard, and then came a rather imaginative string of obscenities. It was instantly followed by the release of a dark, malevolent and oppressive aura that rand across the streets like thunder and stole breaths and bravery alike. Silence stood, heavy and gloomy like a snare around the soft throat of southern Konoha. There was a woman to whom the Hounds of hell bowed and to whom the great plagues obeyed. There was a woman whose fury made warriors tremble and whose shadow made others recede. She grew hurricanes with her anger and great drought was born out her despair. Her hair was a pale pink, and she was Shiva incarnate.

Her poor victim wore a mask painted with doom. Blonde hair in disarray, she ran, trying to evade the great beast at her pursuit. What had turned her best friend into a frenzied Banshee, Ino wondered. All due to a little innocent letter. Oh, what a sacrifice had Ino-martyr made to ensure that her friend would have a love life! And how she found herself the recipient of Sakura's fury was beyond her. She didn't understand how she was not showered with gratefulness. Only disappearance is the right way.

Sakura-Shiva was a hunted woman-goddess. She was followed as she chased and hunted Ino. There were eyes on her back burning fire roads across her skin. There were whispers of her name carried by the wind and the heady smell of someone in the air, in the bricks of her house. There was someone on the lookout, he, because it was a he, observed and waited. He was patient, her great time-master, he wielded the hourglass and the compass. When Sakura-Shiva was no longer, and only Sakura herself subsided, Itachi stepped out of the shadows that seemed to be at his command. He was there, all tall and lean and staring. She was fuming, still and it was with venom masking otherwise gentle words that she asked:

"You wanted to meet me?"

It was a scratchy, burning voice that was hurtful and crude, bare and rude. The lack of decorum didn't seem to faze him for he stood unwavering. There was fire and warmth in his black eyes and softness in his face she didn't recognize. It was directed at her and she observed it, detailing and putting it in the mental catalogue she held in her head. This man she could take, the intense and unwavering, ruthless captain, the soft, gentle man, the mother hen that sometimes hovered above you until you gave in.

" I still do."

There was possession in his voice. It had gotten deeper, lower than when he spoke to others and she got even angrier. She didn't know why: it just swelled and grew, in angry turmoil in her stomach and in her lungs. It swirled and surged forward.

Itachi smirked at her anger and then he deflated at her hurt and scorned expression. She thought he was playing and yet he wasn't completely. He played for her anger, all consuming and entrancing, for her passion and her hips, her bones and her sighs, for her essence and the fact that she was so warm and _alive. _There was something that felt inviting and home-like about her, it made the solitary heir and murdered inside him recoil and let _Itachi_ come out. He felt stripped, as though he had shed his burdens, strangely liberated. There was also desire, luring and lurking, and waiting also, pulsating under his skin and blazing in his eyes. Sakura could only stare, her face open and earnest, calm and yet bothered. A force seemed to pull her upwards from her toes to the last extremity of her hair. Then she understood how foolishly she had cornered herself in that small, dark alley between two bustling streets. She was cornered and he wouldn't let go. He had always been unpredictable and dangerous and he proved to be even more so when suddenly he was against her, his right hand crossieng over her back and holding her right hipbone, his fingers almost digging in the flesh and the other, big and warm, almost engulfing the back of her head. His lips, delicate and yet not thin were pressed against her neck, his head angled so he would still see her face, and his eyes were almost hidden under dark lashes. She felt his lips move against her skin and the low rumble from his voice as he murmured, almost purred:

"Such anger... Sakura."

When she stood very still in his embrace, all wide eyes, he kissed her neck again and she shivered. He smelled of rain and something else that was him, she smelled of something heady and feminine. His pupils slightly dilated, he had expected something floral and innocent... One second she was standing tense and unmoving and the second, with a speed and ferociousness that took him aback completely, she was kissing him. It was intense and full of raw passion and need. There was no place for tenderness as she grabbed his ponytail and pulled. He growled, low and rumbling and her back made a beautiful arch. Then her body felt dizzy, as though spinning and she felt herself being thrown, covers under her hands felt unfamiliar. Grey silk against her and Itachi, hovering above, with eyes piercing through her and a smirk attached to his lips.

Perhaps The Pig's idea wasn't so bad afterall.

The pink haired woman had always wanted Itachi anyway.


End file.
